I got up this morning to talk to my mom after she left the ER. Yesterday she was in a car accident and had some subsequent back problems. While I was on the phone with her I received a beep from my call-waiting. Every time I see "Unknown ID" on my caller ID, I always think of Nathan. I don't ever expect it to be him, and generally it is a telemarketer. As the phone beeped again, I asked my mom to hold for a moment.
"Hello?"
"Hi.
pause
Brittany, it's Nathan."
Usually hearing his voice sends my heart into a twitterpated frenzy. In moments, I find hope where a starving man couldn't find a crumb. I can't imagine what it would be like to be stranded on an overgrown island with oceans, land between you and everything you ever cared about or ever could. This time, all I heard was the voice of a weak man searching for a connection.
The conversation that followed was surreal. He called to check in on Richie's health and apologize for his part in the negativity we created. I avoided saying "it's ok". I don't want to assume anything about Nathan. I know by tomorrow (when he said he would call again) everything he said today could be completely changed. I believe everything he said was true, but that is my own downfall.
Showing posts with label absentee donor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label absentee donor. Show all posts
epocsodiela.kaleidoscope.pocsodielak
It's debilitating to know that after years of pretending you do, you find out that you do not, in fact, have the killer instinct.
I could hear static-filtered Richie babble from the baby monitor as the DVD player spit Tyler Perry's Daddy's Little Girls onto the TV screen. Before I could say out loud, "Every time I see something to do with dad's, I feel like crying," the tears came. Even though the muscles of my faces contracted tightly, even though I couldn't breathe at all, the tears came. I couldn't even think about how ridiculous I must have seemed crying through the preview to a movie I have never seen. For the seconds before I could actually stop crying, my mind was bludgeoned by emotions. It isn't about loving Nathan or not, being loved or rejected. It's about Richie. When did the psychological composition of humanity change so much that any one person could find it acceptable, even if just within themselves, to abandon a child? His own child.
In all our terse correspondance, Nathan never asked after Richie. His final excuse was that he simply did not know "the baby". Am I odd to find it disheartening that Nathan referred to Richie as "the baby"? Or naive in my ignorance of his paternal detachment?
To the day, it has been three weeks. I am like an addict, or an obsessive compulsive. What's the difference? What matters is that I have not responded to Nathan since his nasty message on Valen-effing-tine's Day. Actually, I have not sent him anything since the message I wrote him the week before that. So, technically it's four weeks.
Four weeks.
I murdered Vera Rivkin
When one meets a man worth blogging about, I suppose there's nothing else to do. Seeing as how I can't stop repeating the fateful story of Mr. Mysterious-So-and-So, I might as well get it out.
It's really not as interesting as it may seem. Except, of course, for the fact that I can't forget him. Attractive, young, and more interested in my son than me. My twitterpated little heart could contain itself all but for an embarassingly silly, and painfully wide, grin. My expression screamed with all blood that ran to my face, "Please ask me for my phone number!" He just kept talking to Richie, furthering my interest. Richie babbled back, an unusual act. If it hadn't seemed strange, even borderline crazy, I might have pinched myself. Instead I made a much smarter choice, I stared. I fully believe in the intuition of children. Absolute innocence lends itself, if to nothing else, than to alert of the slightest bit of evil. I know, evil is such a strong word; in times such as these is it that inappropriate? Richie's detection system sounded no alarm.
I did nothing to perpetuate any sort of future contact. I welcome this blissful memory into oblivion. I do not want to end up feeling so cold that I refuse the warm presence of another person. Yet, I am not willing to begin something I'm not ready to even think of. It is simply refreshing to know the possibility survives, when Nathan can not find the daddy desire for his own son. It's not that I believe the whole fate gimmick to be "real", but what more fitting name to such coincidence? You see, I met Mr. Mysterious-So-and-So while in San Antonio picking up Richie's new crib from Babies "R" Us. Richie needed a new crib because of the previously owned Jardine crib spraining his leg.
Like I said, fate.
It's a pretty idea anyway. Except that when you consider the true nature of "fate" it actually resembles more of a twisted conspiracy. Was Richie doomed to hurt his leg? Even before that, did I maintain the injury by purchasing a defective crib? Or was all this already set in motion the day I got pregnant? After all, babies need cribs. Although, Richie spent months in his crib with no injury at all. Is fate powerful enough to cause physical changes to a piece of wooden furniture? Maybe this began even before that.
Paranoia disguised as such a pretty conspiracy.
I take a peek, now and then, at a snapshot of this life. I look back at the carelessness and the ease with which I offered my heart, to find it twice broken. Everyone I know has a different story. No shock value there. I don't see the big picture as much as moments. They all have their moments. Of course, when the commodity is love and the price is forever, I find my scrutiny falling upon the married. Which happens to be all of my friends; married with children. I could have been like them. I could have married Nathan. I still can't blame him. All my expectations dissolved when I refused his proposal. I assumed so much when I made my choice. Am I smarter since the divorce or just sad? Sadder. It's impossible to say if I made the right choice. All it takes is a kind stranger and I sit alone at night to question a past I can not change.
It's really not as interesting as it may seem. Except, of course, for the fact that I can't forget him. Attractive, young, and more interested in my son than me. My twitterpated little heart could contain itself all but for an embarassingly silly, and painfully wide, grin. My expression screamed with all blood that ran to my face, "Please ask me for my phone number!" He just kept talking to Richie, furthering my interest. Richie babbled back, an unusual act. If it hadn't seemed strange, even borderline crazy, I might have pinched myself. Instead I made a much smarter choice, I stared. I fully believe in the intuition of children. Absolute innocence lends itself, if to nothing else, than to alert of the slightest bit of evil. I know, evil is such a strong word; in times such as these is it that inappropriate? Richie's detection system sounded no alarm.
I did nothing to perpetuate any sort of future contact. I welcome this blissful memory into oblivion. I do not want to end up feeling so cold that I refuse the warm presence of another person. Yet, I am not willing to begin something I'm not ready to even think of. It is simply refreshing to know the possibility survives, when Nathan can not find the daddy desire for his own son. It's not that I believe the whole fate gimmick to be "real", but what more fitting name to such coincidence? You see, I met Mr. Mysterious-So-and-So while in San Antonio picking up Richie's new crib from Babies "R" Us. Richie needed a new crib because of the previously owned Jardine crib spraining his leg.
Like I said, fate.
It's a pretty idea anyway. Except that when you consider the true nature of "fate" it actually resembles more of a twisted conspiracy. Was Richie doomed to hurt his leg? Even before that, did I maintain the injury by purchasing a defective crib? Or was all this already set in motion the day I got pregnant? After all, babies need cribs. Although, Richie spent months in his crib with no injury at all. Is fate powerful enough to cause physical changes to a piece of wooden furniture? Maybe this began even before that.
Paranoia disguised as such a pretty conspiracy.
I take a peek, now and then, at a snapshot of this life. I look back at the carelessness and the ease with which I offered my heart, to find it twice broken. Everyone I know has a different story. No shock value there. I don't see the big picture as much as moments. They all have their moments. Of course, when the commodity is love and the price is forever, I find my scrutiny falling upon the married. Which happens to be all of my friends; married with children. I could have been like them. I could have married Nathan. I still can't blame him. All my expectations dissolved when I refused his proposal. I assumed so much when I made my choice. Am I smarter since the divorce or just sad? Sadder. It's impossible to say if I made the right choice. All it takes is a kind stranger and I sit alone at night to question a past I can not change.
I could hate you, but I don't want to
It's a not-so-typical night in May; the third, to be exact. I am summoning the courage to take a pregnancy test. I know I am not pregnant, but I need confirmation. So, why am I so nervous? I am in the bathroom at my (already pregnant) best friend's apartment, waiting the obligatory three minutes for a second line to not appear.
tick. tock. tick. tock.
No.
It can't be.
"Jennie, this isn't a line...right?" I wonder, now, if my best friend took the time to consider lying to me just before affirming that we were both staring at two pink lines. Yes, the man I had left in the dust of my hasty escape from San Diego, had impregnated me with his drunken sperm. Condoms, depo, alcohol, one man, and one woman; add those variables together, in the right order, and you get a baby. I was surprised at the joy he seemed to get from hearing the news that "we" were expecting. Considering all that had passed between us when we lived together, I decided my astonishment was misplaced.
Why wouldn't he be as elated as I?
One year and six days after the longest conversation Nathan and I had to date, I discovered that the answer would never be what I wanted it to be. Loving him was never easy, but always worth trying for. Eight months later, he still does not have the capability to shock me. As I over analyze the last words between us, I can't imagine how horrible it would be to have a son that I didn't have the chance to meet, as is the case since Nathan was deployed the morning Richie was born. I have to assume that he is afraid of being daddy to a son he's never known, otherwise I find it impossible to fathom his disregard.
Perhaps it was Nathan's absence that sent me into single-parent mode, but I doubt it. With him being enlisted, we were both realistically aware of the time we would spend apart. I don't remember exactly when, or why, I felt that I would be raising our son alone. We started out so right. We had it all figured out. Maybe it was our arrogance that led to this flaming downfall. I could muse about the ups and downs of our relationship until the end of time (and I probably will), but I doubt I will ever understand what actually happened. I doubt he will either.
I never had expectations for Nathan and I. Everyday with him, I felt blessed. I didn't know what could happen, or would. I did feel certain, however, that he would make a good father to our baby boy. My heart breaks in ways I didn't know were possible as I see Nathan throw money at Richie, as though that could somehow compensate for all that he lacks as "daddy". I find myself wondering whether or not men that father children feel any attachment to them at all, beyond obligation. Men (is it more appropriate to say "boys"?) seem to be oblivious to the true nature of creating life. I suspect women would feel a deeper connection as they do carry the child for nine months before the men ever get to meet said child. For all the excuses I can, and do, make for Nathan, I still don't come close to comprehension. My efforts prove to be a mere distraction from the reality that Richie's father is the type of man that demerits parenthood.
My son is barely fourteen months old and already I dread the day he will ask all the questions I will never be able to answer.
tick. tock. tick. tock.
No.
It can't be.
"Jennie, this isn't a line...right?" I wonder, now, if my best friend took the time to consider lying to me just before affirming that we were both staring at two pink lines. Yes, the man I had left in the dust of my hasty escape from San Diego, had impregnated me with his drunken sperm. Condoms, depo, alcohol, one man, and one woman; add those variables together, in the right order, and you get a baby. I was surprised at the joy he seemed to get from hearing the news that "we" were expecting. Considering all that had passed between us when we lived together, I decided my astonishment was misplaced.
Why wouldn't he be as elated as I?
One year and six days after the longest conversation Nathan and I had to date, I discovered that the answer would never be what I wanted it to be. Loving him was never easy, but always worth trying for. Eight months later, he still does not have the capability to shock me. As I over analyze the last words between us, I can't imagine how horrible it would be to have a son that I didn't have the chance to meet, as is the case since Nathan was deployed the morning Richie was born. I have to assume that he is afraid of being daddy to a son he's never known, otherwise I find it impossible to fathom his disregard.
Perhaps it was Nathan's absence that sent me into single-parent mode, but I doubt it. With him being enlisted, we were both realistically aware of the time we would spend apart. I don't remember exactly when, or why, I felt that I would be raising our son alone. We started out so right. We had it all figured out. Maybe it was our arrogance that led to this flaming downfall. I could muse about the ups and downs of our relationship until the end of time (and I probably will), but I doubt I will ever understand what actually happened. I doubt he will either.
I never had expectations for Nathan and I. Everyday with him, I felt blessed. I didn't know what could happen, or would. I did feel certain, however, that he would make a good father to our baby boy. My heart breaks in ways I didn't know were possible as I see Nathan throw money at Richie, as though that could somehow compensate for all that he lacks as "daddy". I find myself wondering whether or not men that father children feel any attachment to them at all, beyond obligation. Men (is it more appropriate to say "boys"?) seem to be oblivious to the true nature of creating life. I suspect women would feel a deeper connection as they do carry the child for nine months before the men ever get to meet said child. For all the excuses I can, and do, make for Nathan, I still don't come close to comprehension. My efforts prove to be a mere distraction from the reality that Richie's father is the type of man that demerits parenthood.
My son is barely fourteen months old and already I dread the day he will ask all the questions I will never be able to answer.
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